


1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

by CravenWyvern



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Body Horror, Death, Gore, Just As Vague And Unfulfilling As Ingame, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reverse Chronological Order, Shadow magic, Spoilers, Theory Explanation, Very dark themes, Violence, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11006850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Start from the end, go back to the beginning.





	1. Why is one afraid of six?

Her figure cast a shadow down upon them, the silhouette of shade shivering and flickering ever so slightly as the massive beings rolled each step forward, the wood creaking underneath the strain and the structure of the restaurant vibrating in a steady beat. Not one face looked up, not one even acknowledged her presence, fatty faces coiling into splitting grins and yellowed tooth smiles, each staring ahead to the one in front yet not seeing a thing. Only one thing rose in their minds now; she was not noticed.

(The Hunger had them now, but it wasn't the Maws infected saliva that ran through them just yet)

She waited, almost with bated breath, watched and waited as they steadily filed in, cows to the slaughter, the flies buzzing heavily around their sweaty bodies and the low, consistent thrum of their chests filling the air. The heat of it stayed well away from her, the insects dropping dead the instant they flew too close, and she waited.

(Once, long ago, the guests were so much more than this)

Her patience was long and almost infinite, but even this tired her, this watching and waiting.

(And hoping, ever and ever hoping, though that was smothered down in oily froth and slimy shadows, the Maws aches peeling and sucking it away)

And she had no more thoughts to give in this never ending parade of Hunger.

The Lady turned, barely touching the ground, shadows withering and spitting around her and just under her skin, and left the balcony to the low hums of flesh and feast and greed. Passing through hallways of painted doors and walls and engraved eyes that seemed to follow her, latched onto her back even as she disappeared around corners, the faded carpet stomped down by ages and ages of terrible weight, and she was still, silent as she almost floated down the maze like path. The shadows under the floorboards arched against the wood as she drew near, followed in swathes and dribbles of black oil that gathered in drops and puddles, crawling behind her ever so steadily.

Some long strands stripped away, flailed in the mass that heaved under the floorboards and around her feet, tendrils peeling back into a gape and hissing out a whine before being consumed by the rest of the shadows, the leeches melded back together into the living force that slicked behind and below her, hidden in the nooks and crannies.

(Soon enough they'd be fed and they'd drop away, to be shoveled and then thrown down into the depths of the Maw, to aid in vermin populations and to keep the things that lived so far below them away from the surface)

The building and its designs thrummed with energy, vibrated unevenly as its visitors rolled about, their antics of feasting and indulging rocking the structure more than even a storm could in all its power. The Maw leaned ever so slowly in its own personal way, but its interruptions of weight offset it with heavy stomps, and even from here, on her way to her own quarters, The Lady could feel the strain it underwent. Her own steps weighed nothing, barely brushing the floor with her small feet, robe billowing out around her and twining with the shadows, staying straight backed and even, aligned with the floor as it thrummed and groaned and vibrated, shifting ever so slowly in the waves of the outside as the Maw sank into the depths. 

(She barely even remembered to think of how odd it was, that the captain had not come seeking her, looking for payment, greasy sausage fingers obsessing over the gold and silver and coins she'd toss to him for his ships passengers)

The shadows withered before her, called the elevator as she passed through one last heavily decorated hall into the quieter entrance to her rooms above. The vibrations were minimal here, almost nonexistent; an escape from the guests burdening presence. Soon enough she'd be back, flow down into the far reaches of the restaurant to do her duties, and then leave as the chefs stomped in to clean up the mess.

(Once others were there too, to clean and remove and sweep and mop and dust, to get the Maw ready for the next season, but they've been gone for so long now, not needed anymore)

The elevator made its presence known, the eye watching her before opening up to allow passage, her glide in marked with more rooting shadows, slithering into the boards and machinery and easing into rest under her robe. The door slid closed, cut off the light from the hall and dimmed with the surrounding shadows. As she rose, the clicking and clacking of gears and motors and the slithering noises of metal and rope dragging together, the temperature dropped suddenly, the half solidified shadows that flickered around her dusting into specks and hiding away into the cracks of the floor and layered over her skin, sliding away under her mask.

No plume of fogged breath escaped her; she had no more air to give to this place, the Maws everlasting Hunger having already sucked it away. Her hollow chest was forever silenced long ago.

 

(When was the last time she had something besides slimy shadows sloshing in her lungs? Was it when the guests stopped asking questions or when the Maw had taken her child?)

The elevator opened into her quarters, the mist of cold enveloping her and her shadows, a succumbing blanket of chill that settled into her gown and deep in her bones. The air was silent, still, a dead void that filled the rooms and chambers and halls, and her own silence melded and fused just as easily as ever, her presence slotting in like a puzzle piece.

Stepping out onto the carpeting, head straight and stiff backed, keeping to the beaten path and not even wasting a glance to the pictures and eyes that coated the walls, the Lady could feel the shadows curl over her skin, stick close to her almost helplessly.

(Something was happening, something was going to happen, here and now; the Maw held its breath and waited)

Up the stairs, staring blankly past the pictures and paintings and hastily covered images of silk and memory, silent and ghostly still, barely brushing the floorboards or disturbing the thick layer of dust that had seeped deep into the fringes and threads of the rugs and carpets. Her haste was not unnoticed, almost subconsciously acknowledging her inner worry, of the pulse of the shadows and ringed Hunger and Greed and the Maws ever heavy cloud of consciousness above her head and enveloping her like a blanket, but she barely brushed the door with her pale fingertips and the cold silence was a wave of familiarity, the room a flare of bright and shade at her presence, the doors squeaking complaints ignored as it slid half way closed. She had no breath, but it was an almost sigh that escaped her, almost relief before the Maw sucked that away and left her empty of feeling once more.

The bated breath still held itself above her, but now it was cushioned away, hidden and ignored.

(Ignored as much as the room next to hers, layer upon layer upon layer of dust and soot covering the dolls and dresses and paintings and lovely little child's bed that sat in the corner, next to the open window that looked off into Maws great and vast insides of salt and spray and bones)

She moved with practiced ease, almost mindlessly following a previous pattern of a thousand years, stopping in front of her vanity and its beautiful, cracked mirror. Splinters of her masks reflection jagged back and forth, glossy pitch hair that fell over her shoulders and back as she reached up and let it down with a flick of her hand. Staring into the darkness of her own corrupted, scratched reflection, the Lady carefully straightened up and let her hands slide into her hair, straight and smooth between her fingers.

The Maw and shadows quieted, settled into ease as she hummed, the low thrum in her throat and chest filling her room and echoing out into the rest of her quarters. She rocked ever so slightly, felt the ever present yet almost null shiver of the Maw under the waves, and the world dimmed and smoothed over. The flickers of herself in the mirror moved with her, hummed with her, and the song was an all encompassing tune that curled into twists and turns and dances around her.

(It filled the room beside her own, reverberated steadily and blanketed like a mothers embrace, some forgotten memory that drifted through the window and out into the Maws gape of inner sea)

(Once upon a time she had taught the tune to the others, to her child, even to the most curious of guests, and she'd hear them once in awhile, echoing from inside the depths of the Maws throat)

(Somewhere, far down in the depths, a hanged man swung with the waves. Somewhere, still deep below the currents, lay a man bleeding out and weeping. Somewhere, close and to the surface, a brother puffed a cigar and looked down into the depths, thinking of the next dish. Somewhere, close and surrounded by the mindless, driven guests of the new age, a brother beheld his knives and saws and tried to think of which one to use to chop up one of the fattened livestock sleeping nearby. Somewhere, close, much too close, behind and then hidden away under a bed, tiny cold feet as quiet as possible on the floorboards, was a vermin consumed by the Maw and her own failure)

The Lady fell into the rhythm of the tune, felt the thrum of the Maw and her splintered mirrored form in response. The world, for just a moment, slipped into something younger and newer and long forgotten, of hope and freedom and wishes being granted.

(For just a moment a part of her long stripped bare, eaten away by jealousy and grief and the stomach acid of the Maw, thought that her child was sleeping peacefully next door and soon they'd go together to visit with the rest of their mismatched family, to be merry and happy and content in this place they called home)

Then something smashed next door.

The effect was instant, a shadow swathe that dusted her apart and flitted her away with a sharp gasp into the darkened cracks of the room, hidden and incorporeal to anyone and anything. 

Something moved about, steps on the wooden floorboards, brushing of pottery and a sharp hiss of pain, and then heavier, more confident footsteps back. A hint of blood in the air, a cut, and the hooded figure had their hand in their mouth, sucking eagerly on the wound with a key loose in their free hand, dragging it on the floor roughly. Looking up to the useless vanity, destroyed mirror and lone black statue, the figure dropped the key with a clatter and clambered up the empty chair, hastily getting their hands on the figurine before dashing it against the ground.

(The pinch was too little, too faded to notice at all, the splattering of shade and flickers of dust embedded into the statues clay now spreading and layering about, but the Maw took a moment of silence before sucking away her sudden flash of rage)

The key back in hand, they started forward, the cut sealing over thinly and blood tinging their tongue, tromping with abandon down the steps and unlocking the heavy set lock to the rest of the level. 

It was once they were inside that the Lady made her presence known, a surge of shadow and black sand to snuff out the odd light in their hands.

They took off running even before she materialized, and she shot forward, mask emotionless yet the slow growing screech erupting out of her throat as she almost wrapped the shadows around the intruder, thrumming with sparked feeling and shocks of pure movement that burst into a fine charred powder as they slid away from her grip.

She followed behind slowly, slithering through the cracks, a heaving in her veins at the thought of /vermin/ in her quarters, of some filthy murk creature leaving prints and stains behind it, over her furniture and fabrics and objects of personal desire, and she'd rip it apart, peel the curdled energy from its twitching corpse and thrust the hunk of waste into the chefs arms in a fury unbecoming of her, unbecoming of anything from the Maw or in it, and the pounding of it in her head was a nasty shock from the void of a thousand years, a sprig of electric giddiness at feeling something for once-

And then tiny trembling hands, pulsing with frantically warm blood, wrapped around the mirror.

Stopped cold, a frost settling into her veins and the shadows withering for but a moment before extinguishing into ash at her feet.

(This was no gnome)

(But then, who…?)

The Maw shivered, under her feet and yet deep in her chest, and brightness blossomed forth, draping over her shoulders. The Lady didn’t move, didn't acknowledge it whatsoever, yet the eye in the front of the room remained unblinking, swallowed in cold, clear light as it stared at her.

Tiny feet padded behind her, laden by the thing in their hands, and there was a moment of hesitation, of thought that seemed thick in the air between them, the eye of the Maw staring down at the both of them, one consumed in the light of day and the other panting cold puffed breaths with a heartbeat racing in their chest, the mirror pressed close. Another moment, of a steeling of nerves, yet the instant a step was taken everything fell into shadow, the eye sliding closed with the scrape of stone lids.

A burst of sand and dust and ash and she was already surging behind her, shadow tendrils outstretched and seeking, seeking, seeking, blindingly white mask a bleed out of bleach in the darkness, the figure stumbling backwards with the mirror tight to their chest and the flash of flesh and expression in the darkness of the hood looking up at her for but a moment before-

(I know that face)

Before another eye slid open, a spawning swirl of bright light that she almost stumbled into with a screech, shadows disintegrating and peeling apart, rotting from the inside out and slapping stains of tar and charcoal over the wooden flooring. The figure trembled before gathering themselves, mirror clutched with a white knuckled grip, and they spun around, waiting. Waiting for her next move.

(She could practically feel the mirror, its sick heartbeat stuttering as her own, the shadows flailing mindlessly in the darkness of the circle that surrounded her long lost and rotted organ)

The Lady dashed forward, pressed close and personal and smelling of bloodlust, the tiny false vermin jerking around to stare up at her in awe and fear before-

Before something else stared up at her from the glass, someone she once knew, a figure of the mirror yet not of her at all. 

(You see her, don't you? Do you see what has become of her, here, down in the depths of my embrace? Don't fear it, don't fear death, don't fear the room crowded with children's toys and old knick knacks and scratched out crayon pictures stuffed in a box far up stairs, hidden, not yet burned away, a letter and hasty drawing, its to you mother, don't you like it mother-)

The Ladys screech was wrong, inhuman, the Maws eye watching dispassionately as she stumbled back and the mirror recoiled, the image blasted away as shadows swirled her back into the safety of the darkness. The eye stayed open for a few seconds longer, the figure in the yellow raincoat panting and trembling as something cold and electric slithered and numbed their fingers from the mirror, its shocks making them hunch over yet not willing to let go of their only protection just yet.

Sealing shut, the darkness filling in and almost breathing with drum beats from the mirrors heart, the Lady rose from her bed of slimy shadows, the embrace sticking almost pleadingly as she surged forward once more, the yellow creature racing away from her, looking, looking for the next-

A beam of the Maws gaze, stone grinding together to open up unnaturally, and the Lady circled the panting thing, mirror heart pulsing in their hands with numbing needles, shadows swirling, and the Maw let the emotions simmer and boil over, didn't take it away, made her /feel/ again, all too much, a sure hatred at the burning hot thing in front of her with hands wrapped around her heart, and then she lunged forward as they swung around-

Around the reflection went, much too big for such a small surface and it was something else, something she didn't want to see she realized, something big and heavy and round, something that stomped and hit and yelled and /owned/ by fearful power, and it needed to be forcefully forgotten, pushing against the shrill hiss of steam of the mirror, against the trembling hands that pushed back-

(Don't fear the dead, don't fear me, don't fear the beheaded, it was your own hand to cause such things. You've forgotten your place darling, forgotten how to keep yourself, how to keep house, lost your way I'm afraid, and now I'll have to step in again, or is it someone else's turn to put you into place? It was a dagger that led you to a throat and now your own heart is rebelling, what a pity, but fitting for such a thing as you to fall from grace again dear. Shouldn't you have waited on me, shouldn't you have watched my every move, you'd not be here otherwise and all the better to stay tame and used-)

The blast was a swirled mix of hatred and loathing, the Maw mistaking her stew of emotions and froth of shadows as weakness and she almost reached the intruder before her shadows yanked her back, burning into her and under her robes and mask as the creature wobbled into a stand, trembling with bleeding hands as the mirror shook and spiked into numbed needles. 

They almost didn't make it, the eye of the Maw blazing open and banishing the Lady backwards, to swirl and hiss in a mad daze, overwhelmed as the Maw ignored its duties and patiently watched with a stone eye instead. The mirrors surface followed her, held with red slick hands and fast breaths, and when she charged ahead it was dead on, a smear of her mask reflected before bleeding away into-

Something meek and weak and thin and /useless/ and used and stepped upon, something with too many and too few eyes that withered in the glass and-

(Death is to find you, a fate not worse than those that live upon me, it escaped youth and slithered away to the mainland but dear mother followed right back, didn't she, haunted with every cursed power of hers and a village raises a child to grow out of darkened sin and I need help, I need it, I can't help myself, I can't I can't I can't-)

And this time she was pushed back, a harsh warble in her throat as the being took a wavering step forward, the recoil dashing the metal into their ribs and yet they stayed standing even as she fell back with acid burns smoking her robe and staining her mask, shadows frantic and useless in their utter madness of states, the Maws betrayal a straight shot as the stone eye closed.

The Lady was slowed, shadows tugging pitifully on her robe as she followed after the struggling being, breath puffing up clouds of foggy air even as they spat out blood and stumbled into the next blinding light, a center strobe that burned and throbbed painfully as it stripped the shadows desperately crawling inside into dust and dead sand.

The Lady felt the over flow of it brewing in her, oozing out and stripping into leeches that melted underneath her tired feet, yet she circled, could feel the blood seep into the mirrors surface, a giddy respite for a heart to pump all the more boldly and with that she sprang forward, shadow flecks sprinkling around her-

The mirror twisted around, flared into her face and it was another, something yet all too crowded, cowed and hunched and dainty and frail and /useless/, /disgusting/, /ugly/ and it rose eyes to lock with hers and-

(You have been always fated to end with death, a dance and hymn only I can hear, don't wince at this pinch, not even you should have thought of such better endings when it is bitter I am, tired and at those hulking whims and fancies that followed behind and swirled skirts up and I can't do it anymore, I can't, no one will help me, no one will, I'm alone, I'm forgotten, I'm nothing at all-)

The mirror screamed with her, hissed and spit steam and boiling broth, recoiled and burned the yellow figure

(Yellow child, I know you)

into dropping it with a clatter and collapsing to their knees to spit up blood and spittle. The Lady recovered quickly, anticipated the close of the eye, readied and circled, circled circled circled, but the ever bewitched Maw loomed down upon them silently, waited as the child rose and grasped the mirror in shaky hands, blood coating their teeth and tongue, splattered over the front of their raincoat, the buzzing mirror digging into their fingertips and pricking their palms.

A few passes was all it took for her leap forward, the shadows lamenting behind her as she crossed the lines of dark and light, of blindness and sight, and the mirror was swung to her almost instantly, panted heavy breaths as its heartbeat throbbed in pain and the reflection stretched and cracked and chipped in a painted fashion, something forming and twisting into an almost unrecognizable form of-

(Don't run from your fate, don't ignore such pushes of the natural world and its natural progression, your time draws near, like had mine, do you see it child, do you see it? Out me to your friends, speak of eyes and ears and wagging tongues with shadow fingers that wither around the throat, listen and hear the crackle of charred flesh and the scream of the accused mother, you a child jury and child witness and child evidence but not the executioner, child, do you see it yet, do you see the end-)

The Maw judged correctly this time, a shriek that devolved into hissing sobs, shadows withering in pain and escaping from her mask as it became contaminated, the recoiling, beating mirror spasming into the chest of the child and throwing them back, almost into the reaches of the cringing darkness. For a silent moment, breaths sucked in, the eye above the child blinked ever so slowly, a pure moment of darkness that made the Lady stumble forward half heartedly, tears dripping from under her mask before opening into a beam of glassy light. The child had struggled back up, hand pressed onto their gut, wheezing and oozing slops of red ichor from their mouth as they shakily held the mirror up.

For a moment something tinged in the back of the Ladys mind, something whimpering and weak and foolish, something of rest and stop and defy, to distort the Maw until the end, but the shadows greedily suckled back to her, peeling the hopelessness away from her and instead filling once more with sparked oil fire.

Her charge forward was marked with a sobbing scream, something cracking and burning over her skin, shadows digging under and feeding off of her pain, slathering off as the light of the Maw and her own beating heart seared a gaping wound into her mind, a distorted reflection that rose in her own gown, silk smoothed pitch hair woven into a style similar to her own, a reflection that thrummed with energy even as the porcelain in the glass melted and gooped away to reveal what was underneath-

(Accept our fate; death comes to us all and we've earned it tenfold)

With that something ungodly terrible and strong and light and thick and curled and twisted and corrupted beyond all belief snapped in half, the bursting sparked explosion as something splintered and erupted outwards into shards of filmy glass.

The Lady collapsed, felt her mask splinter, crack, and fall into pieces before her.

All the Maws eyes opened, a witness.

It hurt to /breath/.

It wasn't shadows in her throat, in her chest anymore, and something heavy and hard beat in her once hollow chest, something that flooded her with false warmth, goosebumps on the back of her neck and arms, on her skin under her thread bare robe. Sucking in air, pressurized stagnant dusty air, the Lady heard soft footsteps and looked up, mind abuzz and yet completely empty.

Bare feet slapping onto wooden floors, before something made a much different noise, something that practically threw the world into a dizzy focus for but a moment.

(Hunger, suffering from the Hunger, I know you, I know I do)

Her limbs weighed like lead, hair pulling from the roots, having almost never let it down to settle naturally, and she could barely raise her gaze to the child stumbling over to her, another terrible sound from their gut, and she tried to make eye contact, to see who this familiar friend to come see her die really was.

(Their hood covered them, protected them, though the blood was red and it seeped out of the darkness that blanketed their face, their hunched form stumbling and shoulders trembling under the Hunger, under the Maws gaze)

The Lady tried, for a moment, truly tried as more air was heaved into her disused lungs, as oxygen flooded back into her mortal coil, but the yellow coated child didn't even stop, didn't even hesitate this time.

(I know you, I swear I do-)

Tiny hands on her neck, a frantic brushing away of hair from her skin and it was a strength she's never felt before that thudded her down, hard pressed against the wooden floorboards stained in smeared shadow and droplets of blood and tears, not even a moment for struggle or begging of mercy before something-

Something sharp and wrong and thin and terribly painful ripped downward and it only took a moment for everything to gape away into darkness and void with a terribly sudden tug and-

(The Lady had known the tiny raincoat clad child once; know she knew of nothing at all)


	2. The six deaths of one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the new Chapter 2, the previous one was moved to Chapter 3 due to chronological issues.

((((((6))))))

The thing before her cowered, hunched back and stumbling a step away as the shadows flickered and flared in the lone lamps pristine glow. It blinked above them, strained in the heavy, almost physical darkness, and her white mask shone under its dying light, a bright star in the deep black that surrounded them on all sides. The starkness of yellow before her was almost dimmed, a dull coat stained in streaks of black tar and dried water drops, and though there was no trembling to be seen, the curled posture, hands close the chest and head ducked downwards; it all was a clear enough sign.

(Too late for that, wretched creature)

The Lady rose up tall in the darkness, towered over the small thing that stood before her, and the shadows reflected her much too clearly, spits and tendrils losing themselves in the ring of light and dusting into fine ash, the weight of darkness all too heavy and thick to be natural. 

“You have disappointed me greatly.”

Her voice was even, cold and emotionless even as the shadows withered and bit and lashed against the light, clawed against the floorboards and shredded the walls into peeled curls of wallpaper. Their snarls were silent things, a pounding of their heartbeat thrumming throughout the blackness, hooks of pitch shades digging into her skin, under her robes and grazing through her hair, only the white of the mask left untouched. The light was the only thing between The Ladys shades and the small figure, and it threatened to dim and go out, weight pressing down and making it flicker haphazardly as shadows twined near to its bulb before bursting into dust and dark sand. 

(There was no reason she shouldn't destroy the light, no reason whatsoever)

The figure just bowed her head even more, another careful step back, but no explanation, no excuses.

(No reason whatsoever)

The silence deepened, lengthened between them, shadows digging into the wooden floor, silent yet shaking with rage, and finally The Lady stepped into the light. Shadows peeled away, snapped tendrils back and burst into dusty stains upon the floor, stripped from her straight backed, heavily robed form, mask angled down to look upon the thing before her.

“There is no more reason for you to be here any longer.”

Silence once more, testing, the silence in The Ladys chest against the frantic pounding from the small figures body, and as it stretched the temperature steadily fell, tentacles of darkness withering outside of the circle of light. Puffs of frosted air emerged from the figures hooded face, silent quick breaths, and the figure hugged her arms about her, still bowed in submission to The Ladys practically floating form.

“You are irrelevant, useless. A nuisance, an annoyance, a distraction.”

The Lady leaned forward ever so slightly, staring down upon the figures yellow raincoat body, not a shiver or shake moving her still form, a chilled rock against The Ladys gusts of fury and shadowy rage. The lightbulb flickered badly, almost plunging the both of them into darkness, into the swirled mess of The Maw.

“You are not wanted.”

That caused a reaction, a twitch from the figure, almost a shiver, and the next step back from her presence was onto the edges of the ring of light, shadows fluttering about as puffs of cold mist escaped her lungs. The Lady was still for a moment more, mask blank and yet the shadows sneered down upon the girl before her, quieting into a mass of dark presence, the light dimming overhead.

And then she turned away, robe swirling with her as the light flickered dangerously, shadows curling and twisting into themselves before she was gone, flitting away into the darkness.

She didn't even give Six the chance to see her disappear, the light shattering with a harsh sound and spray of glass shards, the wave of heavy darkness closing in before The Lady left in the folds of shadow and The Maws abyssal pathways.

 

(((((5 & 4))))

“You know what you have done.”

The two before her crowded together, lumped up next to each other with squished faces looking anywhere but at her. The Ladys mask was angled down to them, white and pristine under the lamp that hung above them, whole and steady even under the dark pressure surrounding it. Lights from the other sides of the paper walls shone through, weak clarity even with the smothering shadows that filled the side room. The floorboards creaked, tendrils of tar pressing up and slipping through the cracks, one of the Chefs glancing at a sliver of a leech that withered under the light for a moment before bursting into ash, face going even paler than it usually was, black eye outlined grotesquely by bruised and bloodied flesh.

The other Chef sniffed loudly, staring at the ground blankly before raising a hand to their bleeding, twisted nose and wiping the mess onto their dirty apron, it's already stained surface covered in muck and red ichor. Both stunk of sweat and meat, a cloying cloud that hung in the slowly dropping temperature, cold billows of breath from their twisted mouths and bloodied, dented teeth, one with a split lip and the other with purple and yellow bruises blossoming over their forehead and hanging cheeks.

(They both stunk of fear, heady perfumed fear and left over adrenaline, and they were both utterly disgusting things, terrible abominations)

The Ladys shadows glared from all sides, quiet and held back by will, yet still heavy enough to tense the cold air and make the two shiver, still avoiding her emotionless gaze as they breathed heavily and pressed close to each other.

The Lady waited a moment, a beat of The Maws thick heart thrumming in the shadows and the slow but still quicker heartbeats from the two before her, vibrations from under all of their feet rolling up as the heavy livestock deep below went about their leisurely ways, already forgetting the incident of this morning.

“There was no reason for such behavior and you have no excuse for it. You shall never do it again.”

For a moment nothing happened, a stutter of breath in one of the Chefs as The Ladys shades stilled, grew calm, and then they straightened up, puffed up their chest as they took a step forward

(In front of their brother)

and that long, stretched out face looked up at her, blocky stained teeth jutting out and watery eyes locking boldly onto her mask. The folds of skin on their face wrinkled, mouth gritting downwards with hands curled into tight fists at their side, the bruising of their eye and slow swelling distorting into a terrifying mess of a face, and when they spoke the words were spat out, saliva dripping from their bloodied, fleshy lips as they glared almost accusingly up at The Lady.

“S’not gonna allow us ta get hurt!”

They waved an arm back, to their wide eyed brother, blood still leaking from their misshapen nose and the bumps on their head slowly swelling up, and even as the other Chef shook their head and tried to pull their brother back, gaping mouth puffing cold fog into the air, the Chef continued spitting out words, still pushing their luck.

“Not one touch us! Not one allow ta that!  
Is their fault, should know better, not mess with us-“

And then they both stumbled back, light flickering dangerously as the floorboards creaked and slithery tar things tried to peel out from under them, the paper thin wall behind them bending ever so slightly as they pushed against it. The Lady, shades snapping away from her as the light bathed her robes, staring down at the two Chefs, now before their trembling bodies, stilled and silent for a moment as the air turned colder, as the air became heavier. Frosts of air billowed from their mouths, slow heartbeats picking up against the near silent thrum of the shadows, and when The Lady spoke both watched her with twisted, fearful faces.

“You have no excuses.”

Firm, short, cold and dark and nonnegotiable, the lull of The Maw near forgotten under the blanketed shadows that pressed down upon the two of them, pressed down upon the flickering, struggling light. Silence crawled forward, time stretching as the tense air thickened, and for a moment The Lady readied herself to turn away when the same Chef seemed to gather their courage and pushed forward once more, away from their brother and face curled downward into a horrible frown, creases and wrinkles bundling up in blobs and rolls of flesh as they looked up at her.

“Not allow it again. No.”

They stood there, shaking ever so slightly, waiting, waiting for a response, holding their breaths as their courage started to waver.

(How dare they)

The darkness boiled, still and stiff no longer, a mass that hissed from outside the light, and her still form stared down upon the two Chefs, white mask silent and bright. When she moved this time she did so quickly, much too quickly and the startled gasps from the two of them were loud and shocked as the light flickered and she loomed above them, not lowering herself at all and making them stretch their necks to see her towering presence, making them press away even more into the paper wall in an attempt to keep away.

Her next words were harsher, still even and cold yet full of pressure, and this time she did not leave it as she had, did not give them the benefit of the doubt or another chance to get out of this, they had misused this opportunity.

“You will not be leaving the kitchen anymore unless it's to do your duties. You will not be seen up here anymore, not unless it is to finish your work, and you are not to interact with the guests ever again.”

One made to speak, opened his mouth wide with blocky yellowed teeth before she interrupted, light dimming down until it was barely alive, struggling against the dark ash and dust that coated its bulb. 

“Do I make myself clear?”

A beat of silence, of watching their shriveled, bruised and bloodied faces as they looked up at her in terror, hands grabbing each other and holding close as the wall behind them groaned threateningly under their combined weight. Shadows licked out from the sides, flickered with dusting flakes into the dimmed light, only her mask bright and clear in the darkness, only her mask the center point, the only thing they could see fully and utterly looking down upon them.

“If this happens again, I will be finding new cooks. Those who do not have a place in The Maw will not stay long.”

It didn't even take a moment before the both of them were nodding, flesh wobbling and jerking their faces into even more distorted shapes, and then The Lady pulled away, straight and almost floating out of the light and into the darkness. The lamp flared bright again, air still cold yet lessening its frozen grip, and the darkness started to fade back to a normal shade. 

Before the shadows could embrace her The Lady turned her head slightly, mask shining out as the Chefs pulled away from the sagging paper wall, hands still holding together and still pressed close, bruises stark and clear on their fleshly faces. 

“Clean yourselves up; no cooks of mine shall look as beaten as you.”

And then the shadows and The Maw blanketed her in darkness and left the two alone to nurse their wounds.

 

(((3)))

Silence prevailed between the two of them, a pressure of tenseness and terse patience. Not even the usual clacking and chewing of the small man broke through, his jaw closed tight and lips sealed in a nervous frown, long arms close to his body and fingers wrapped together, ignorant of the shades that twisted and whipped about in the dark corners of the room, of the wooden walls decorated in sparse pictures that were covered in black murk shadows. The lamp above her was still, glowing strongly out from underneath the thick, unnatural darkness, and The Lady watched and waited. 

The man was not turned towards her, understandable due to his disability though still brushing against her wrong, his utter lack of servitude or respectfulness grating on her nerves, and the darkness reflected that in the mass that hid under the floorboards, pressing upwards sporadically and oozing into black sand as the light met the tar like tendrils. 

(He used to be better than this, or, had he always been this way, unnoticed and hidden deep below?)

The man fiddled with his hands, sharp nails tracing long wrinkled fingers as the silence stretched longer and longer. The Lady was still and unmoving, mask turned to stare down at the small man, and the shadows boiled outside of the lone lamps light, flickers and slithering tar that stained across the unlit floorboards. The room barely vibrated, silent besides the slow rocking of The Maw under the waves, the sounds of sleep below them dimmed and muddled under the levels upon levels of floors that made the restaurant. Outside of this room, from its mixture of painted papers and wooden walls, was an eye staring out from its place as a door to the elevator, machinery silent and still. 

(Even from here she could feel it blink, ever so slow and observant)

“Do you wish us to come to ruin?”

The man startled, frown deepening as his head jerked up, still not tracked on her but tilted to listen. His hands stilled their fidgeting, instead clutched tightly together. The Lady knew it was useless but rose her arms up anyway, gestured about them to the blind man, thin, pale hands splayed towards the walls and ceiling. Her movements were slow, unseen, yet she continued the show anyway, moving her mask a tick to the side but still keeping him in her sights.

“Did you not wish for safety, for solitude and protection?”

She let her hands fall, back straightening up, the darkness slow and easing into tides over the walls and floor. The man was silent, twisted face pulled down and the unease was coming off of him in waves. The Ladys shadows ate away at the wooden flooring, slow crawling oil that oozed into the cracks.

“And yet you have done this. What does this say then?”

Silence, for a moment before the mans jaw clacked together, nervous and still not fully turned to her, head tilted slightly to listen close to her words. His hands clenched together, tight and stiff, a puff of frosted air escaping his lungs. The air slowly grew colder, the unnatural weight of the shadows billowing up.

“I…I had only wished-“

“You had your wish.”

Her interruption was sharp, cold, and the shadows snapped awake, seethed under the floorboards. The man grinded his teeth and turned his head away, towards the wall he had pressed himself close to. 

Again it was silent between them, nervous and tense energy opposite of The Ladys cold, calculating, ever so patient aura, and then she tsked quietly, shook her masked face side to side.

(A show to a blind man, or was it for The Maws benefit?)

“As mistaken as you have become, it was in vain. Your actions are not unseen and will be dealt with, though the consequences are truly not so dire.”

Raising a hand, glancing over to one of the sliding doors painted with The Maws visage, a flare of shadows overwhelmed it in complete silence, tugging and pulling and bursting into ash as light seeped in, the cold air slipping out into the warmer hall. She kept still as her signal was met in an orderly fashion, the light suddenly blocked off as a tall servant appeared in the doorway. He had to bend down to fit in, hand on the door frame as the floorboards groaned under his weight, and as he entered the room behind him trailed a line of small figures, hands held tightly as they stumbled forward, unwilling to let go of the lead who had their wrist grasped tightly in the grip of the blobby faced servant. Their clothing trailed with their steps, colorful and not so colorful, robes much too big for a few of them and hoods covering their faces in darkness, and it only took a moment before all eyes were glued onto The Lady. 

(He…clothed them? What a waste of fabric)

The small man lifted his head at the sounds of entry, at the heavy footsteps and then the tiny patter of bare feet on wood, and his mouth dropped open slightly, breathing a little quicker and heartbeat pacing a little faster. The Lady watched, waited, observed as a few of the children glanced over to their former warden, confused and afraid, hands clasped tightly together.

(Any one of them could have easily escaped her loyal, yet slow servant; what kept them from leaving the one in his grip? Or had he given them a promise, one he knew to be false? She had every reason to believe he'd lie of their safety to keep them close, to keep them from running; what stupid, miserable little creatures)

There was a question on the small mans lips, face curled into a toothy frown, wrinkles and folds pulled downwards and he turned himself, sniffing the air loudly as he faced the newcomers, the lamp light and light from the hall keeping the shadows well away from each of them. The tall servant let go of his hostage, slow and stiff as he turned back to close the sliding door and dim the room, finally folding his arms and standing himself behind the line of figures before her, watching and waiting for a command. The Lady could feel some of the shades reaching out to her, trying to crawl across the lit floorboards to reunite with her but instead bursting into dust and ash, flickers of charcoal stains to splay out behind her. The children watched this as well, silent and deathly pale as they held onto each other for comfort. One the younger ones pushed up to an older boy, tried to hide away in the folds of his bundled cloak that hung heavily off of him while still trying to stare up at The Ladys white, blindingly clear mask.

The Lady made ready to speak, to enact her judgement and give an example, shadows calming outside of the circle of light, before one child stepped forward, holding tightly to the others on either side of her.

“We're not afraid of you!”

A young child, not old enough for the pot just yet, but seemingly old enough to take charge, hands tight with the other young children by her sides.

(She sounded so much like someone The Lady would rather forget)

“None of us are afraid of you!”

This seemed to spark something, a mumble in the small line of children before they stepped up with the girl, nodding their heads and raising their voices in agreement, tiny “yes”s and “yeah”s, still holding hands as they collectively all glared up at The Lady.

“You're, you're supposed to be so big and, and powerful,” a boy spoke up, trying his best to stand tall, going as far as to stand on the tips of his toes, “But, but you're not! You're just a, just a bully!”

Another chorus of voices, of agreements, of outspoken cries of “bully” and “meany” mixed together. The Lady silently took the words, silently watched and waited and listened as the lead girl led her friends forward another step, rose her voice again, this time louder and more confident. 

“You think you're the boss, but you're not! You're just like everyone else here, except worse!”

The girls face was wide eyed, bright and full of confidence at the silence from The Lady, and she took it as a sign to push forward again, fear almost all the way faded into bravery.

“You're weak, weaker than us! You shouldn't be the one in charge!” 

At this The Lady finally moved, only a slight turn to lock onto the small mans form, and his face had morphed into utter terror, shaking and seemingly stuck in between the want to go to the children and the need to preserve his life.

(Had he been planning a mutiny this entire time behind her back, hidden from the darkness and The Maws eyes? What has he been telling such miserable brats in his free time?)

“We're better than you, better than you'll ever be!”

Another step forward, a line of small faces glaring up at her, the lamps light dimming ever so slightly, floorboards creaking half haphazardly, now so terribly close to her and the ring of darkness that surrounded them.

The girl's face hardened, completely confident in herself, a brave stunt that had become real as the other children piled in line with her. Her eyes shined under her hood, face dirty from her attempted escape from earlier today, and when she spoke she did so as clearly and loudly as possible, her own will power thrumming with her words, a banishment of sorts.

“And we'll never be afraid of some ugly old witch!”

(How dare you)

The lightbulb shattered with a sudden huge force, the unnatural darkness swirling in a heavy wave, and it didn't even last a minute of confused gasps before they started to scream.

It possibly lasted longer than it needed to, The Lady still and unmoving under the current of darkness surrounding her, filling the room and blocking out everything in its whipping, lashing rage, cold and calculating.

And then it was quiet. 

“Open the door.”

Her voice was even and emotionless, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly after a moment of hesitation, and then the room cleared with slipping in light.

(Not truly enough to see, but enough to prove a point)

There was a harsh choked off cry from the wall, the small man pressed against the wood, face angled towards the little bodies splayed out across the floor, breathing deeply for a moment at the smell of blood.

(She needn't have been so violent, yet the sight of their spilled life satisfied her)

The tall servant turned away from the open door, hunched heavily and face blobbed into a mass of an unknown expression, and he stood next to the doorway, wavering in the dark. Another warbling cry seemed to spurn him forward, The Lady watching passively as his hesitance made him move slow, and then he hovered uncertainly over the smaller man, not knowing what to do as a shaky wail rose up.

“This was caused by your ineptitude, your weakness.”

The man breathed fast in the cold air, long arms twisted as he pressed his hands to his wrinkled, distorted face, some choked off sound in his throat and he slid to the ground, back pressed to the wall as another wail escaped him. The tall man trembled above him, hands raised yet uncertain on how to remedy the situation, and his softer, wheezier voice spoke out in the darkness, some mumbled apology or other-

(No you don't, ill trusted serf)

“Silence yourself; those who go against the way of The Maw do not deserve comfort, nor loyalty.”

The tall servant trembled for a moment, stiff and unmoving, hands curling into fists, and then he straightened up, turned his gaze back to her obediently. The choked sobs and low throaty whimpers from the collapsed man were quiet, holding his head and rocking slowly as the darkness lightened around them. The lights shattered remains glistened on the floor boards, sprinkled with droplets of blood or scattered over shreds of cloth, and The Lady looked down upon the small, malnourished corpses for a moment longer.

(Better a witch than dead)

Then she turned away, to the mass of shadows behind her, hidden in the darkened side of the small room. They reached out to her, tendrils and leeches trying to rejoin and bundle away under her robes and over her skin, and her voice rang clear and sternly to those behind her.

“Clean up this mess and return to your duties. Make sure I never have to come here again for such trivial affairs.”

Then The Lady took a step out into the embracing shadows and flitted away, leaving the room as another wailing cry rang through it, a dam broken as her presence finally left.

 

((2))

The Lady stared down at the paper offered to her, unmoving and silent as shadows flitted about in the corners of her room, hidden under her wardrobe and vanity from the light that shone above. The Maw rocked slowly, carefully, the empty silence of the restaurant below her a blessed moment of rest from greed and gluttony, and the cold air swirled smoothly throughout her quarters, a comfort from the heat that would blossom up from the overworked depths. 

She looked up, tilting her mask slightly in the pale light, the tall man before her stiff and as emotionless as her white clad face. Vacant, dark slotted eyes stared down to her, his slow breaths billowing up frost clouds in the chill air, and it was not tense air that hung about them, nor nervousness, only a quiet, resigned patience.

Her shadows flicked about from the cracks in the floorboards, ash and dust layering the floor and settling into the rugs as the light touched upon them. It was silent, for a moment, a calculating, observing silence.

(The Maw didn't touch the string of skittishness that was strung up her back, shadows silent and watching, waiting for her, and the eye on the door blinked lazily, unseen by all but her)

“One cannot leave The Maw once set foot upon it.”

(She could not stop the underlying words that hovered in her statement, the unspoken “You” that almost left her lips, as oddly specific to The Maw as it was to her)

The tall man did not respond for a moment, still as they watched each other, envelope held out to her stubbornly, and then when he did speak it was lightly wheezed, a cringing voice that was soft and quiet in the cold room.

“I…understand that…”

He pushed the envelope closer to The Lady, held it up stiffly, a clear sign of wanting her to take it. 

(Whatever was written in there she wanted nothing to do with)

The Lady refused to take it, unmoving under the tall mans gaze, and for a short moment they both stood there, unyielding and stubbornly set, the silence of The Maw and growing chill filling the room heavily.

And then the tall man sighed, a whistled burst of air from his lungs and he dropped his hand, envelope still grasped loosely between his gloved fingers. The Lady kept her stance, a satisfaction thrumming in the darkness and her cold veins at the apparent victory.

And then the tall servant turned away from her, huffing out a gurgled breath as he started to walk away, towards the door to her room. The Lady turned, watched for a moment as he did not stop nor hesitate, almost as if ignoring her before she spoke, voice cold and unfeeling.

(It was not tinged with uncertainty, or fear, or light panic. Her voice was as stiff and dark as it had always been, there was no difference in it now whatsoever)

“Where do you think you are going?”

The man halted, waited a silent second in front of the door to outside of her room, free hand wrapped around the metal handle. He did not turn towards her, did not show any sign of respect or normal servitude she had come to expect from him, and this surprise was the only thing holding back the slow thrumming shadows that curled underneath the floorboards and inside of the wardrobe. 

“I…am leaving.”

(As blunt as ever, as unconvincing as ever)

The Lady rose up, straight backed and starting holes into the mans red uniformed back, the dull crimson aged badly and dirtied with stains of centuries that have passed them all by. Her mask shone under the light of her room, blindingly white and pristine even with its age, and her voice was kept even and stayed level even as her hands curled into fists, spits of shadow and ash drifting from her sleeves.

“There are no guests to attend to; I am the only thing you should be focused on.”

The man did not move, staring at the wooden door between him and emptiness, and he spoke softly, voice rough and wheezed and scratchy and grating against The Lady, making flares of shadow crawl over the floorboards.

“I…will not be tending to you any longer.”

This sparked something, a sudden snap and The Maw watched and thrummed in amusement as The Lady stepped forward, the shades spitting and whipping in the darkness and the pressured cold air grew heavier, a deep silence that was much too loud billowing around her. It was unnatural, wrong as the room seemed to darken and distort, the servant still and silent.

(She was not trembling, she was not consumed by rage)

“What are you saying? You are in my service, service to The Maw, a slave to this vessel and myself. I do not grant you freedom.”

“I am leaving my position-“

“You cannot resign!”

The silence after her outburst spoke volumes, shadows still and unmoving. The tall man turned the door handle slowly, envelope curled tight in his fist, and he pushed open the door carefully, a low squeak issuing from its hinges. He stood there a moment, the darkness outside of the room more natural, the air lighter, and the light above The Lady flickered and dimmed low as heavy ash and smog crushed down upon it.

“Find a new steward of The Maw; I shall not return.”

And then he was gone.

(How dare he leave)

The Lady stood there in the dimmed dark, not trembling whatsoever, not at all battling a swirling mass of emotions in her empty chest, and The Maw blinked its eye at her, watched and felt satisfied.

 

(1)

Her room was silent.

The depths below her were silent, the season empty of visitors, and the mess downstairs was left to its molding and rotting, to be ignored by the next load of passengers consumed by their Hunger and Greed.

(No one to clean it)

The Lady stared into the mirror, stared through the slits of her mask into the unblemished reflection that gazed back at her, straight and stiff and elegant in her simple wooden chair. The light stayed steady, calm, and her room was silent, not even a hint of breath in her lungs. The cold fell heavily, filled the room with frost, dust laden furniture and ash choked rugs, the mannequins side by side in their eternal stiff postures.

Her mask gazed back at her, white and pristine and beautiful, and her pitch hair set perfectly in form, robes draped over her like a blanket. Not quite as extravagant as the dresses and other pieces she kept, made by her own hand or taken selectively from luggage, but its comforting air and thick build was what she wished to be beheld in. The Maw saw all, and The Lady saw no reason to dress for it in the off season.

She was beautiful, art in the reflected glass that watched her back.

(The shadows thrummed with laughter)

It did not matter if the others had left her; her beauty was all she needed now, her beauty and power and control over The Maw itself.

(They were not coming back, never again)

They had betrayed her, betrayed The Maw, fell into failure to the Hunger and Greed and Gluttony that prevailed here. She had not, a superior willpower in comparison. She should have known it was to happen.

(Hatred drove them away, just as consumed now as the guests, and they've escaped the worst of it, hidden in the depths)

And The Lady knew she could take more, more of the burden even without their help, because The Maw was under her control, under her will, she did what she pleased with it. She needed their help no longer, and staring into the darkness of her mirrored mask eyes she felt assured in this.

(Beauty is the eye of the beholder, and none see it as well as you)

The Lady knew guests have started arriving with mockeries upon their faces, fatty blobs hidden under parodies of her own. They wished to mock her, to tease and bully and step upon as they used to do to her once loyal servant.

(Whether or not he had given himself up to The Maw was not her concern anymore, just as it was no concern of hers to worry on the fate of her long gone child)

The Lady would allow no such thing done to her however. She was not below such monstrosities of the outside world; no, The Lady was much more than that. Much more.

(Not anymore, you've lost that a long time ago)

There were chips in the mirror, tiny cracks in the frozen air, a silence so different from the beat of The Maws life blood in the shadows. The Lady was unmoving, stiff as the light flickered above her.

She was so much more than any of them. She had known this, from the very beginning, yet had not done a thing about it. What a waste of time she has been indulging in, playing games with filthy fools when she had all the power in the world. Her beauty far surpassed their ugly markings, their ugly births, and they mocked her with false masks and gossiped words because of her status above them.

(And yet she was one and the same)

Her mask enunciated her beauty, showed everyone who exactly they were to bow to, it had no effect on what she was truly, there was no difference. She was as beautiful under the mask.

(Not so and she knew that, should know it well)

Hands curling into fists, a slight odd tremor in her back, and the shivered slivers in the glass grew, stretched and reached inwards. She was beautiful no matter her coverings.

(And yet that was untrue)

Slowly, ever so slowly, The Lady rose up her hands and wrapped thin pale fingers around the edges of the white, smooth casing that acted as a second face. She stayed that way for a moment, watched silently and ignored the slow crawling cracks twinge in the corners. 

And then The Lady peeled the mask off.

She stared at the reflection of her visage, as unchanged as ever, white mask held tightly in her hands.

(As disgusting as ever)

She was-

(There was no difference between her and them)

The Lady had just placed the mask upon herself before the mirror cracked together, long jagged lines meeting together and splintering it inwards, the chaotic ordering of her white masked face scattered about its destroyed surface. 

Even from here, in this dimmed room of hers, the sound of splintering and shattering of glass echoed, rebounded throughout her quarters and its purple walls, even as far as sounding off into the restaurant below her, its empty, filthy rooms and halls and chambers holding the screech for a split second.

(I am beautiful, she said, and the Maw laughed and said, in all it's ironic cruelty, as ever as you were not)


	3. If one made a wish what would it be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Severe warning for very dark themes, which include shadow-forced-caesarean-section which ends in death, which is not in severe detail but is still prominent.*
> 
> EDIT: Due to issues and realizations of chronological ordering, this chapter has been moved to Chapter 3. It has not been changed whatsoever while Chapter 2 is new.

Her steps were near silent, faint creaks as the floorboards registered her weight, and the stuffy silence thickened around her, filled the halls and rooms that ran like a maze. Cold air followed in a creeping mist, hung about her shoulders, tinged the heated stickiness and leeched through the wooden beams and paper thin walls, puffs of flickering shadows slithered behind her and twisting under her feet in strings and oil slicks, scouring the stained pathways for a forgotten meal. The taste in the air was of grease, of waste and sweat and musk, of flesh and skin, and the shades gobbled it up behind her, swirling in impatience and her own blank façade, a silk covering of oil that tainted the very air with every step forward.

The shadows curled back under her robes as she turned a corner, a painted image of the Maws massive gullet passing by with illusionary smoke and ocean waves, the thin walls fluttering as the cold seeped through, and half solid shades twirled through her fingers, crawled over her skin and into her mask as a light passed overhead. It flickered for a moment but remained steady in its amber lighting, swinging slowly as the sea outside of the walls pushed and pulled around them. A crossroads opened before her, more lights dimming in her presence, and without hesitation, steps even and quiet and just barely putting weight down, the Lady turned to her left and continued onwards through the restaurant.

The season of the guests was now finished. 

(Finally, finally, finally she'd be filled)

A right turn was taken, the doors open wide in preparation, halls empty of rugs and furniture, the paintings taken down, sheets spread over the walls to protect the murals and images that laid upon them. She did not spare them a glance, shadows withering over her skin and seeping wisps of ash from her sleeves in a faint dusty trail. 

Passing through a doorway, covered in faintly marked sheets, dirty smears and heavy foot prints pressed into a clearly marked path, the Lady halted and turned her head, white mask blindingly bright in the dim lighting from the lone lamp. The servant shuffled up quickly, off the stool and bending and cracking up, dull red suit dark and wrinkled as he attempted to not touch the ceiling with his height. His face shivered, a distortion for a moment as blobs and rolls of flesh rearranged and he leaned heavily almost in two, backbone popping loudly as she watched his futile efforts to bow in the small room.

It took him a moment, disgusting face unmoving even as he strained into the gesture, and then with a wave of his hand he pointed her forward, wheezing quietly. 

The Lady didn't even grace him with a nod, floating past him elegantly, ignoring the sharp cracks and low hissing groans as the tall man followed behind her, head down and long strides shortened to keep well away from her. His height fit him badly here, in this smaller side section; in the lobby and main rooms and chambers the servant could practically stretch to his full size.

(Too fearful of the others to do that, however, always bent down to accommodate the guests egos and their own validation of themselves over him, always at the height for pushing and tripping and spitting upon, such a well behaved steward for the livestock. Kept them entertained and docile enough, which was all that was required of him nowadays)

A last doorway was passed, opening up into a chamber that spread out even more, a multitude of sounds and ambience thrumming from the rooms closed off around her. The snores and coughs of the guests layered the heaviest, their room blocked with an out of place door, the stone eye staring unblinkingly forward at the Lady, surrounded by the painted walls now covered over carefully with pristine white sheets. Empty of furniture, the eye of the Maw watched silently as she almost floated into the middle of the chamber, the tall man behind her carefully stretching up and moving to the side, still keeping a distance.

Underneath the sounds of sleep was the din from a side room jutting out from the left wall, door normal as could be under the layers of sheets that kept it clean. Dishes and water sloshed around in there, accompanied by low mumbles and gibberish as the two servants inside cleaned together, soapy scents a cloud around the door and seeping through the paper walls. They kept quiet, mindful of the guests next door, large shadows distorting through the sheets and moving around slowly. 

(The last dinners were now being washed, cleaned up and put away. None of the guests knew it, yet they had all seemed to know to request the best dishes the last time they had been asked; some sort of intuition or their natural greed? But that did not matter, especially not to her)

There was another sound, something clacking and grinding and gnawing, harsh gurgles from the back of the throat, and the Lady turned her head ever so slightly, peripheral vision marred by the porcelain mask but shadows flickering underneath, faded and dusting into ash under the lamp lights that were scattered from the ceiling. The little man in the corner hopped off of the stool that should not have been there, snapping his teeth rhythmically and trailing long shriveled fingers over the sheeted floor, hooking nails into the fabric and tugging lightly as he waddled calmly towards her, almost unconcerned.

(He keeps a mask as well as her, yet even the guests see through it)

The tall servant behind her shivered, bones and joints making audible sounds before he hissed quietly, taking long strides past her and around the other man, who tilted his head ever so slightly and waited until there was no fear of contact between them. The Lady waited, observing as the wooden seat was scooped up with trembling hands and a bending backbone that protruded under a dull red uniform, and the grinding of the smaller servants teeth caused her to turn her gaze downwards in an aura so similar to irritation yet dipping deeper.

(What a horrid habit, what a horrid little man)

No conversation passed between them, the stool lugged away quickly, and when the tall servant returned, waiting patiently as the Lady glared down at the man who could not see her gaze, his hissing gurgles wheezed ever so slightly louder than normal, back hunched and height shrunken down with bones grinding together.

(She knew how it worked, knew how all her serfs worked; they were like so many puzzle pieces fitting into their niches and folding their bones down on top of each other, compact at the price of their comfort and the sharp pains that ailed them. She considered herself lucky; the ugly, uncouth creatures that served her, served The Maw were under a strain she had not been born into)

(The fake laughter of The Maw resonated inside the shadows, buzzing over her skin, the pinpricks of sharp pain in her eyes and tightness of her skin well enough ignored. It was not real nor true if she never acknowledged it, this she knew, and the mask upon her face did not hide blemishes, only exaggerated her beauty for all to see)

For a moment she remained still, the tinges of darkness flickering from her sleeves and the cold air seemed heavier then it was, thickening, puffs of fog from the tall man behind her and faded mist seeping from the small mans jaw as he grinded his teeth, and then the moment passed and the servant before her ducked his head, curling his long arms closer to his body and bending into an almost bow, fingers curling into fists.

(She almost relished the fact that she could see his trembling, however so slight it was)

With that the air lightened, another hiss of air from the servant behind her, bones clicking together as the cold seeped through clothing, and the Lady turned her attention away from lowly concerns unbefitting of her and towards the eye of The Maw. It did not blink, though the ever expectant wait for it to do so set in, stone wide and open in direct contrast to her closed and blank masked face.

Without another thought, without any indication whatsoever, the Lady stepped forward, raising an arm to the doors eye as if it was one she was greeting warmly, and the shadows sputtered out from under it and peeled the stone thing open with ease, long strands leaving stains and charred lines. The air dipped lower, shades pulling like living tar, and when she passed through the doorway they slithered in after her, obedient leeches that followed her light footsteps. A second passed, the now loud snoring and gurgles from the guests inside filling the air thickly, both servants with their heads down, silent with puffs of fog escaping their throats, and then the tall man strode forward very suddenly, heavy steps on the covered floorboards, and he wrapped trembling hands around the open doors and slid them closed carefully, barely a sound escaping the scraping stone as the sounds of sleeping visitors became muffled once more.

The small servant clacked his jaw, drew in a breath through his teeth with a deep gurgle in his chest, but was interrupted by the sounds that rose in a cacophony, noises he quickly turned bodily away from, hands tight fists in the white sheets. The side kitchens activity abruptly ceased, bulky shadows freezing in their cleaning duties as the screams rose in pitch next door. The tall man stayed still as well, ever obedient as he waited next to the door, hands clasped together tightly and head down.

It only took a few seconds.

(It only takes a few seconds, the servants reminded themselves, only a few seconds)

Then the door opened smoothly, pushed open by a withering mass of shadows, silence enfolding in waves to fill up the emptiness that guests now left behind, and the Lady floated ever so elegantly out of the cloud of darkness, strands and slimy strings peeling from under her mask and slither up her robe in pulsing tar ropes. She brushed passed the tall man, who hurriedly stepped away from her, long legs almost tangling together in his attempt to get away, thin hooks of shadow reaching softly out to him, and the small servant bowed his head as she slithered by him, wrinkled knobby fingers uncurling from the white sheeted floor and leaving deep marks and creases as shadows lightly pressed against his back before moving onwards in the Ladys footsteps. 

The Lady wore no marking from the culling, no blood splatter or stain lay upon her, and the shades withered as her shadow but for a moment before disappearing into her robe, lamps dimming in her presence as she left the chamber. The servants watched silently, waited as her figure disappeared around a corner, and it felt ever so much warmer now in the clothed white chamber.

The tall man hissed out a shaky breath, trembling fitfully for a moment.

And then another sound rose, something thin and weak and scared, and with that the small man spun around and waddled purposely to and then into the dark room that lay beyond, passing under the other servants vacant gaze without hesitation.

The side kitchens door opened abruptly, a cloud of soap scented steam billowing out as two servants tromped out. Their silent, heavily wrinkled faces gazed up at the tall man for a second, exchanging glances between each other before squinting their eyes into the darkness, hats leaning precariously from their sweaty, misshapen heads.

All three practically jumped back, the two brothers stumbling backwards and the tall man tripping over his own feet, back lengthening as he stretched and backpedaled away from the sudden sharp hissed growl from inside, leaving room as the short servant waddled back out. Hands full, blankets tight in small bundles that he kept close to his chest, the others caught glimpses of grey, round faces with tight closed eyes, a pudgy hand poking out of the thick blanket and wrapped tightly on the short mans wrinkled clothing, and then he gurgled lowly in his throat, a sharp snap of his jaw in the general direction of the tall man as he continued moving forward.

This seemed to be a sign, all parties springing into action, the two brothers rushing back into the side kitchen as they searched for the ready cleaning supplies and their butchering tools, dishes forgotten for the much bigger task next door. The tall servant didn't need to be quick, long legs getting him to a side door nearby, half heartedly waving the short man through with his young charges, and with a low wheeze of air, the rolls of flesh that made his face wobbling and distorting, he closed the door as silently as possible, sliding it carefully and slowly to block it from the chamber and its dark, stone eye embedded room that lay only a few feet away.

With the door closed behind him, the short man let out a whistling breath from between his teeth, sniffing and grinding as he swung his head around slowly. He knew what lay in this room, had set it up himself, everything placed down to allow him to do his job ever so efficiently, and shifting his grip around the bodies in his long, coiled arms carefully he waddled to the wall on his right. The table was layered down, not cold or splintery whatsoever, having checked it over and over with roving, sensitive fingers, and he moved as slowly and as carefully as he could, laying down the bundles with a gentleness that did not seem to fit his twisted form.

Fortunately they stayed quiet,

(In shock, in shock, the little ones were in shock, torn away from their mothers before their time-)

eyes still practically glued shut, skin stained with black tar and thick blood, and with careful, gentle hands that did not tremble in the slightest, head bowed in concentration, the short man unwrapped each little body, pudgy flesh warm and thrumming with life as he wiped them down. Sometimes they cried, little desperate, confused sounds that

(Hurt him, deep in his chest-)

that made his ears ring, made him grit his teeth, an ever so slight tremble in his shoulders before he got a hold of himself, and he hummed and hushed softly to keep them calm, cleaning away the traces of

(Terrible, unnatural, horrible, painful, shadow infested-)

birth and holding their round heads up, sometimes dusted with soft hair, skin smooth, and he wrapped up each one in new blankets, soft blankets to keep them warm and safe. Not too many this time, not too many, and he held them all bundled in his coiled arms, close to his chest and quiet now, clean now.

(He didn't know if it was better or worse, to have so few this season, so few even with all the ladies that had boarded The Maw in the beginning; the more downstairs the better off they were, yet nowadays the more in his arms afterwards the more it had started to get hard, hard to get out of bed and hold their hands and sing them to sleep, it was getting harder and harder, tugging them away from their friends and taking them upstairs, to the bloodstained room-)

They stayed quiet in his arms even as he clacked his teeth, low breaths as he hugged them close for a second, and then he relaxed and shook his head fitfully, gnawing on his tongue before making his way carefully forward. He was careful, did not bump into the first crib that he himself had set up beforehand, and taking it slow the short man started to transfer each bundle into the waiting beds that lay in rows next to each other. They settled easily, the blankets bundled around them cushioning and comfortable even with the harder mattresses under them, and the servant clacked his teeth quietly in satisfaction as he stretched his now empty arms, bones creaking and clicking into odd shapes before folding back together.

His job was officially over for now; soon, when the others finished, he'd be helping with the natural cleaning of the restaurant, of dusting and scrubbing and catching of vermin. The children would sleep, would forget the trauma like every other baby he's taken in his arms, and soon enough he'd eventually lug them all downstairs, a new flock of youngsters to add to the varying ages that still resided with him below, still unharmed, still innocent, still underweight and much too young. 

He didn't make a move to go out just yet however, instead listening, head bowed and jaw still as their tiny chests filled with air and their small hearts pumped life through them.

Raising a hand, careful and slow, the man drifted his fingers over the small heads of each child, moving between the cribs and listening as they slept. His feet made no sound on the clothed floorboards, limbs a little sore from the trek up here and back already aching, but he breathed through his nose and continued on, checking each one for a moment for no other reason than his own comfort. They did not require him right now.

(Did that mean that he did not require them however?-)

As he reached the last crib, a sigh escaping his nose, the servant started to move his hand back to his side, to fold his bones back together into some form that was semi comfortable, but then froze when a warm hand wrapped around one of his fingers. He turned his head ever so lightly, knew that they could not see him just yet, much too young, and the little warm hand tightened, pudgy fingers holding close. The child made a small noise, almost fitful, and his responding coo quieted them, turning his body to better allow his hand to be held. He could feel the strength in the little ones grip, the slight wave as they shook his hand for a moment, and his face pinched and pulled painfully as his mouth split into a grin, teeth poking out and head tilting. His curled his fingers, the tiny hand finally letting go to tap him a few times, their tiny legs kicking for a moment, before the man hushed out a quiet sound and wrapped the blanket more securely around their tiny body.

His low hums quieted the baby, nonsense notes that filled the room, and even with the pain in his face and how his skin curled and crinkled uncomfortably the short man could not stop smiling.

(Even if said smile was ever so sadly done-)

Outside, staring into the dark room, the tall man waited patiently. His back was bent, hunched greatly, deep breaths tinged with the scents of soap and sweat and the heavy smell of blood and tar.

A few seconds later and the brothers tromped out of the small kitchen, supplies all in order on the large wooden table covered by a white sheet that sat inside their side work area. They didn't wear gloves, inciting a shiver of disgust from the tall man as they passed him by, fresh aprons covering their front and clean new shoes that didn't even make a sound under their weight.

Inside the dark room, blinking blurrily at the hulking forms that lay sprawled at random throughout it, the brothers looked at one another for a moment, breathing heavily through their nose and easily ignoring the smells of blood and flesh.

(It was the shadow tar that stung them, bitter and sharp, they knew such stuff was staining the meat, coloring and flavoring it, better hurry need to get it separated, need to clean it up and prepare it for the next season need to hurry,)

With a nod of agreement, fat rolls already glistening with sweat, a heat in the room rising steadily in a sticky, humid cloud, the twins started their work.

The both of them could remove the corpses with ease when working together, grabbing arms and legs as best they could. Sometimes it would split in half, breaking apart under its own fatty weight, and sometimes limbs broke off completely, having to move their grips on disfigured heads or as a support underneath, pressing against the fat of the backbone. Blood sloshed out, seeped and mixed along with the leftover tar, and organs followed suit if they were not careful, intestines slipping and thumping down only to be accidently squashed or popped under their feet. 

Each corpse was carried out, past the tall man who looked blankly down at them and their blood trail, into the side kitchen to a specific spot, layered with sheets that soaked up the blood and gore. Piling the bodies up took effort, grunting and wheezing as they sweated in the growing humidity, hands covered in muck and aprons stained, along with their soaked shoes. It took longer than either of them would have liked, dragging bloated corpses out into their kitchen, harsh coughs from one of them as the bitter tar scent permeated the air.

(Disgusting, disgusting, contamination, bad contamination need to clean it up, need to sanitize, need to prepare to freeze and dry the flesh, set up the dishes get things ready clean up and be ready,)

Once the room was cleaned out of hulking figures, now just stained in a layer of blood and tar and various other body fluids, the brothers barely gave a glance to the tall man before sliding their kitchen door shut, wiping sticky hands on dirty aprons as they gurgled to each other.

Their first order of business would be to clean the flesh, strip the clothing and pile away if undamaged, throw out the window if otherwise. How dirty death was, how disgustingly dirty, a mess.

(Contaminated flesh, need to clean it all up, skin the flesh and peel the hair, gut for organs to be set aside, bleed out the rest of the ichor for blood pudding and blood recipes of all sorts, then its chop and cut and saw and hammer, then its bind and wrap and grind together, then its mold and fold into desirable shapes, and then its freeze or dry, to preserve until needed. After, long after, next season perhaps, they'd cook and simmer and boil and char, and then mix with the youthful flesh from down below, fatty organs on the side for individual flavor, would satisfy the next batch greatly, a hearty feast,)

A moment was taken as they argued over which would be done first, waving their pudgy arms about and pointing sausage fingers to this one and that half and that, before an agreement was made on the especially large one on the side, fat belly gutted in half by scythe shadows that left stains over the skin. They lifted it up, most of the weight on their shoulders, blood oozing out in massive amounts that they'd mop up later, and with that the twins got to work.

The tall man outside waited a few minutes more, just incase the two came out for something they forgot,

(And not stalling, he was not stalling, of course not.)

and finally, a wheezed sigh as his shoulders relaxed and back hunched even more, the tall servant looked around before pinpointing the door he was looking for off to the side, away from the other rooms. Sliding the door back, sheets almost catching but coming undone with a slight dragging noise, and he stretched an arm out, head twisted slightly to the side as he bent his back to look into the small closet. Finding what he was looking for, pulling each tool out one at a time in a lopsided fashion and setting aside to grab more, the tall servant finally slid the door closed once more and straightened up for a moment. The cracks and pops from his backbone and his shoulders as he rolled them were normal sounds, a normal thing to always hear every time he moved, and he waited a moment, slipping thick yellowed gloves on before bending down and scooping up the shovel and buckets he had taken out, leaving the lids and other supplies for now.

With these in hand the tall man only hesitated for a brief second before passing into the dark room, now empty of round shapes of any kind. All that was left was the mess, and-

(And, of course, the shadow leftovers.)  
Something withered next to his foot, peeled away from the puddle of gore and tar with a thick snapping sound, and the curved spines on one end uncurled, flexed before squealing loudly. More of them were birthed in the fluid mixture, spine feelers tasting the air before their thick, slimy skin slid and folded and the creatures started moving, sucking up the slurry with even more squeals, this time something similar to an animal delight.

A few tried to latch onto his boots, teeth scraping harmlessly against him, and then they'd go back to their feeding, sliming only slightly, dark stains from their withering as the blood and tar mixture started to deplete, puddles drying up in the dirtied sheets.

He’d mop the flooring, even if it was clean under the sheets that protected it, make sure it was sanitized and ready for the next batch of visitors. The walls would have to be carefully cleaned, an in-depth scrubbing for the stone door and its great stone eye, and the tall man watched with a bowed head and bowed back in the low ceilinged room, mindful of the slow turning fans that were only a few inches above him. The mattresses the guests had sat upon were crawling with leeches, sucking the fabric clean; even so, such things were to be thrown away, into the depths of The Maw.

He waited a little more, watched the slowly clearing floor in its stained sheet appear under him, watched the leeches fat bodies wiggle about finding more food.

Then he dropped the buckets, sound softened by the dirty padding, and with the shovel in hand the tall man started to scoop up the leeches and toss them into the buckets. They withered about, complained loudly with squeals and screeches and other high pitched noises, but the shovel picked up great handfuls of them and as more of the floor started to become slightly cleaner, not as soaked, the more leeches were scooped up and the more the buckets were filled.

Even so it took awhile, his back groaning with the effort, the leeches growing fatter and fatter and heavier and heavier in the shovel. He had tried to watch his step, but every once in awhile something squelched under his feet, squirting its juices and attracting the surrounding leeches to congregated around his boot. It made it easier to scoop them up, but the very fact that he had leech guts upon him, not to mention the fluids he had to step into just to be in this room, was making him pay closer attention to what was under him. He could not track such things further in The Maw, could not leave stains on the carpets or wood flooring, and most definitely could not keep these boots now. They'd be tossed once he was done with this job; afterwards he'd have to try and find another pair in the guests luggage.

Couldn't track this rubbish through the restaurant, couldn't serve guests or clean correctly in just socks.

Finally, the buckets full of withering worms and sharp teeth that gouged at each other were mostly filled, a mass of thick skinned slimy things that pulsed and throbbed together as he looked down. He had to make a few trips, wrapping hands around two buckets at a time and tugging them away, into the more well lit chamber. The creatures had no love for all encompassing light, screeching louder and flailing blindly in their buckets, but the tall man easily ignored the distress and lugged out the rest of them, careful to jot swing them or spill the panicked contents.

Once they were set down, straightening his back for a second with snaps and pops, peeling off the still mostly clean gloves, the servant went back to the closet door and the things he left there. Stuffing the used gloves into a garbage bag, the plastic shuffling and crinkling loudly, he scooped up the lids for each bucket. Soon he will be taking the bags into the dark room, to push the mattresses and stained sheets into its hulking size, and then later he'd be throwing it over a balcony, into The Maws great inner sea.

(Did The Maw like such things he wondered? Or did it prefer flesh just like the rest of them?)

The leeches did not take kindly to being cut off from the world, complaining in shrieks and squeals as he snapped the lids shut over them, and then after that he stretched upwards and waited, backbone snapping into a little more comfortable position. The sounds from the side kitchen were muffled, low gibberish between the two brothers and their hacking and chopping, while the small mans room stayed quiet, silent even with so many behind its paper thin walls.

The tall man sighed.

(He wondered what The Lady was doing, if she felt full now after all those guests and shadows. He wondered how it felt.)

Something started squeaking, a roll growing louder and louder, bumps and thuds as wheels pushed over dips and stairs and curls in the carpet. The servant waited, blobbed face expressionless and vacant with his head tilted downwards, waited and listened.

The cart bumped into a wall as it entered the chamber, skewing its progress for a moment, but its owner paid no mind to its crooked stance. Instead the cart rolled to a stop almost in front of him, close to his smeared boots and the buckets of leeches, only reaching the bottom of his knees, and then its pusher let go of its lowered handle and went around it, to stare up at him.

The yellow figures face remained obscure, shadowed and dark even with the lighting above them swinging slowly next to the tall servants head, and she curled her hands into fists, still staring all the way up to his face. Nothing happened for a moment, silent besides the kitchens noises, and then the man bent down, back jutting out uncomfortably and wrong, and he scooped up the buckets by their handles and set them, gently, into the cart and its deep insides and high sides. Impossible for the yellow servant to ever reach, impossible for her to ever open up the lids, impossible for her to do her job naturally.

(He knew she'd be pushing the cart over an edge, to watch as it bounced down down down in The Maws insides, to smash into the floor and hopefully to spill the contents of each bucket across the cold wet ground. Sometimes if they didn't open, he knew she'd watch and wait, looking down from her ledge in the Prison.)

(He's watched as well, watched as vermin skittered about the tightly sealed container, tried to tug it open, curious and suspicious of it yet wanting of whatever sat inside, usually splitting the bucket open in any way they knew how at the cost of their little vermin lives. The camera would static every once in awhile, old and worn deep in the depths in places he could not reach nor repair, yet he watched the poor picture just like he watched the other live recordings, face blank and hands curled in his curved and twisted lap.)

(Once, something not a vermin, something with a shackle on its leg, dirty and messy and slimy, panting and crying as it stumbled forward, caught both servants attention. The yellow robed one practically hung off the balcony, belly on the floor and hands tight on the edge as she watched with her head hanging in the emptiness. He had leaned ever so slightly forward, interested and paying attention, knowing The Lady would wish to know such things afterwards, committing the details to memory. The little escapee was hungry and desperate. It tried to open the silent, tar stained bucket. It succeeded.)

Once the buckets had been set inside, stacked and tightly closed, the tall servant stretched upwards, neck cracking as he stared down at the little yellow robed servant. She did not even nod to him, did not acknowledge his action, instead swinging around and pushing harshly against the cart, getting its wheels going with shrill metallic complaints. He watched as she hurriedly dashed to the front, to grab the low handle and tug it continually forward, guiding its wheels as it followed behind her. The squeaks dimmed, grew muffled as she turned a corner and continued back, to the elevator she had come from, to go back into the depths and to feed The Maw with shadow worms and the deaths of countless vermin.

(Did it ever get full?)

Sighing heavily, face contorting and blobs and rolls of flesh rearranging, the tall man went back to the garbage bag, tugged it up and dragged it into the dark room. He had other jobs to complete now, cleaning and throwing away and possibly burning into ash; now was not the time to be thinking too long or too harshly. That was for when he was in his rooms, the secret passageways and hidden cameras set everywhere, in the corners and cracks of the vast insides of The Maw. Not now.

(He vaguely wondered what The Lady was up to...)

(…She was already upstairs, in her quarters and gliding over the stairs and dusty carpets, ignoring the covered pictures and brushing by her open door, eyes following her every move)

Passing her shattered mirror, flickers of broken reflection, of dark robbing and white mask and pitch black hair styled so smoothly and elegantly, and the shadows pulsed lazily around her, ash and sand trailing from under her robe and drifting from her sleeves. The mannequins watched endlessly, blind yet seeing her, straight backed and laced with her own clothing and fabrics, silk the most common with frills and designs and pictures that creased in the folds. The Lady did not spare them a glance, passing into her room.

The vase looked out in its blindingly different colors, white and blue that flared in the darkness, and the eye almost seemed to blink at her before she stopped by her desk, looking down upon it for a moment.

(How she wished to smash it open, a gift she had not wanted nor needed, yet the shadows thrummed soothingly and The Maw was silent, a low vibration in the structure around her as it slept oh so peacefully underneath the waves. Soon enough it'd breach the surface once more, open and inviting to any passing ship)

(She'd feed again then, and the thought almost comforted her)

The cold deepened, shades slithering mostly formed over the floorboards and twining over the furniture, curling the bed posts and layering covered, forgotten pictures in smooth oil and tar, mindful of staining or marring the surface. She stayed still, just an ever so slow and slight rocking from under her feet, before reaching up and undoing her hair. 

Letting it fall, band set down slowly, on her shoulders and down her back, the Lady stared down at the vase, shining in the light.

(She most definitely did not glance at the thin membrane of shadows that covered the side of her room, bathing the paintings in darkness and hiding away the faded memories)

No breath escaped her yet it was a small sigh that echoed in the room, shadows slithering calmly over the walls and crawling over the floor. They skittered smoothly over her skin, under her robes and through her hair like fingers, and The Maw rocked ever so slowly, empty of guests and their heaving footsteps and snorts and greed and Hunger. 

It was quiet.

(It was quiet)

**Author's Note:**

> *Waits for the additional content to come out and utterally decimate my theory/headcanons*


End file.
